Verse > John Greenleaf Whittier > The Poetical Works in Four Volumes
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John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892).  The Poetical Works in Four Volumes.  1892.
 
The Tent on the Beach
The Wreck of Rivermouth
 
          The Goody Cole who figures in this poem and The Changeling was Eunice Cole, who for a quarter of a century or more was feared, persecuted, and hated as the witch of Hampton. She lived alone in a hovel a little distant from the spot where the Hampton Academy now stands, and there she died, unattended. When her death was discovered, she was hastily covered up in the earth near by, and a stake driven through her body, to exorcise the evil spirit. Rev. Stephen Bachiler or Batchelder was one of the ablest of the early New England preachers. His marriage late in life to a woman regarded by his church as disreputable induced him to return to England, where he enjoyed the esteem and favor of Oliver Cromwell during the Protectorate.

RIVERMOUTH ROCKS are fair to see,
  By dawn or sunset shone across,
When the ebb of the sea has left them free,
  To dry their fringes of gold-green moss:
For there the river comes winding down,        5
From salt sea-meadows and uplands brown,
And waves on the outer rocks afoam
Shout to its waters, “Welcome home!”
 
And fair are the sunny isles in view
  East of the grisly Head of the Boar,        10
And Agamenticus lifts its blue
  Disk of a cloud the woodlands o’er;
And southerly, when the tide is down,
’Twixt white sea-waves and sand-hills brown,
The beach-birds dance and the gray gulls wheel        15
Over a floor of burnished steel.
 
Once, in the old Colonial days,
  Two hundred years ago and more,
A boat sailed down through the winding ways
  Of Hampton River to that low shore,        20
Full of a goodly company
Sailing out on the summer sea,
Veering to catch the land-breeze light,
With the Boar to left and the Rocks to right.
 
In Hampton meadows, where mowers laid        25
  Their scythes to the swaths of salted grass,
“Ah, well-a-day! our hay must be made!”
  A young man sighed, who saw them pass.
Loud laughed his fellows to see him stand
Whetting his scythe with a listless hand,        30
Hearing a voice in a far-off song,
Watching a white hand beckoning long.
 
“Fie on the witch!” cried a merry girl,
  As they rounded the point where Goody Cole
Sat by her door with her wheel atwirl, 1        35
  A bent and blear-eyed poor old soul.
“Oho!” she muttered, “ye ’re brave to-day!
But I hear the little waves laugh and say,
‘The broth will be cold that waits at home;
For it ’s one to go, but another to come!’”        40
 
“She ’s cursed,” said the skipper; “speak her fair:
  I ’m scary always to see her shake
Her wicked head, with its wild gray hair,
  And nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake.”
But merrily still, with laugh and shout,        45
From Hampton River the boat sailed out,
Till the huts and the flakes on Star seemed nigh,
And they lost the scent of the pines of Rye.
 
They dropped their lines in the lazy tide,
  Drawing up haddock and mottled cod;        50
They saw not the Shadow that walked beside,
  They heard not the feet with silence shod.
But thicker and thicker a hot mist grew,
Shot by the lightnings through and through;
And muffled growls, like the growl of a beast,        55
Ran along the sky from west to east.
 
Then the skipper looked from the darkening sea
  Up to the dimmed and wading sun;
But he spake like a brave man cheerily,
  “Yet there is time for our homeward run.”        60
Veering and tacking, they backward wore;
And just as a breath from the woods ashore
Blew out to whisper of danger past,
The wrath of the storm came down at last!
 
The skipper hauled at the heavy sail:        65
  “God be our help!” he only cried,
As the roaring gale, like the stroke of a flail,
  Smote the boat on its starboard side.
The Shoalsmen looked, but saw alone
Dark films of rain-cloud slantwise blown,        70
Wild rocks lit up by the lightning’s glare,
The strife and torment of sea and air.
 
Goody Cole looked out from her door:
  The Isles of Shoals were drowned and gone,
Scarcely she saw the Head of the Boar        75
  Toss the foam from tusks of stone.
She clasped her hands with a grip of pain,
The tear on her cheek was not of rain:
“They are lost,” she muttered, “boat and crew!
Lord, forgive me! my words were true!”        80
 
Suddenly seaward swept the squall;
  The low sun smote through cloudy rack;
The Shoals stood clear in the light, and all
  The trend of the coast lay hard and black.
But far and wide as eye could reach,        85
No life was seen upon wave or beach;
The boat that went out at morning never
Sailed back again into Hampton River.
 
O mower, lean on thy bended snath,
  Look from the meadows green and low:        90
The wind of the sea is a waft of death,
  The waves are singing a song of woe!
By silent river, by moaning sea,
Long and vain shall thy watching be:
Never again shall the sweet voice call,        95
Never the white hand rise and fall!
 
O Rivermouth Rocks, how sad a sight
  Ye saw in the light of breaking day!
Dead faces looking up cold and white
  From sand and seaweed where they lay.        100
The mad old witch-wife wailed and wept,
And cursed the tide as it backward crept:
“Crawl back, crawl back, blue water-snake!
Leave your dead for the hearts that break!”
 
Solemn it was in that old day        105
  In Hampton town and its log-built church,
Where side by side the coffins lay
  And the mourners stood in aisle and porch.
In the singing-seats young eyes were dim,
The voices faltered that raised the hymn,        110
And Father Dalton, grave and stern,
Sobbed through his prayer and wept in turn.
 
But his ancient colleague did not pray;
  Under the weight of his fourscore years
He stood apart with the iron-gray        115
  Of his strong brows knitted to hide his tears;
And a fair-faced woman of doubtful fame,
Linking her own with his honored name,
Subtle as sin, at his side withstood
The felt reproach of her neighborhood.        120
 
Apart with them, like them forbid,
  Old Goody Cole looked drearily round,
As, two by two, with their faces hid,
  The mourners walked to the burying-ground.
She let the staff from her clasped hands fall:        125
“Lord, forgive us! we ’re sinners all!”
And the voice of the old man answered her:
“Amen!” said Father Bachiler.
 
So, as I sat upon Appledore
  In the calm of a closing summer day,        130
And the broken lines of Hampton shore
  In purple mist of cloudland lay,
The Rivermouth Rocks their story told;
And waves aglow with sunset gold,
Rising and breaking in steady chime,        135
Beat the rhythm and kept the time.
 
And the sunset paled, and warmed once more
  With a softer, tenderer after-glow;
In the east was moon-rise, with boats off-shore
  And sails in the distance drifting slow.        140
The beacon glimmered from Portsmouth bar,
The White Isle kindled its great red star;
And life and death in my old-time lay
Mingled in peace like the night and day!
*        *        *        *        *
  “Well!” said the Man of Books, “your story        145
    Is really not ill told in verse.
  As the Celt said of purgatory,
    One might go farther and fare worse.”
  The Reader smiled; and once again
  With steadier voice took up his strain,        150
While the fair singer from the neighboring tent
Drew near, and at his side a graceful listener bent.

  1864.
 
Note 1. Goody Cole was brought before the Quarter Sessions in 1680 to answer to the charge of being a witch. The court could not find satisfactory evidence of witchcraft, but so strong was the feeling against her that Major Waldron, the presiding magistrate, ordered her to be imprisoned, with “a lock kept on her leg” at the pleasure of the Court. In such judicial action one can read the fear and vindictive spirit of the community at large. [back]
 
 
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